


Menace in my Bed

by kuidore



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Bartender Akaashi Keiji, M/M, Minor Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Organized Crime, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating/Warnings will change as story progresses, Slow Burn, University Student Akaashi Keiji, Yakuza AU, Yakuza Bokuto Koutarou, Yakuza Kuroo Tetsurou
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-11 03:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15306201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuidore/pseuds/kuidore
Summary: Fukuro was a small bar with a bad reputation and an owner prepared to pay good money to anyone willing to work for and associate themselves with the establishment. Even with the rumours of the location being nothing short of a breeding ground for violent Yakuza activity, the chance had seemed like nothing short of a miracle for Akaashi Keiji; a broke university student who had managed to find himself buried in debt before he’d even turned twenty-one.[Basically the multichapter BokuAka Yakuza AU I came up with at 2am]





	Menace in my Bed

Smoke clouded the decent sized room, the low-power lights from above giving the air a faint reddish-orange tint. There were a few small tables scattered throughout the interior, and a pool table sat, still with its leather cover on, near the far left wall. It was late, the small window on the bar’s door giving a glimpse of the empty streets outside, illuminated only by a flickering streetlight. The bar was almost completely empty; a half a dozen men sat around one of the tables, sipping their drinks as they spoke amongst themselves. Behind the bars counter stood a raven haired man with sharp blue eyes, glancing around the room with a bored expression as he dried a glass in an attempt to look as if he were doing something.

Located near the outskirts of the Bunkyo district in Tokyo, Japan, Fukuro was a small bar with a bad reputation and an owner prepared to pay good money to anyone willing to work for and associate themselves with the establishment. Even with the rumours of the location being nothing short of a breeding ground for violent Yakuza activity, the chance had seemed like nothing short of a miracle for Akaashi Keiji; a broke university student who had managed to find himself buried in debt before he’d even turned twenty-one.

It had taken less than a week at the job for Akaashi to find that the rumours were grossly over exaggerated. While there was no doubt in his mind that many of the bar’s regulars were involved in some form of organized crime, the bar never saw more than gambling, or the occasional back alley drug deal that both the owner and employees turned a blind eye to. They’d never had any issue with violence, save for the occasional bar fight, and the customers Akaashi had marked as a part of a nearby crime syndicate were almost never anything less than polite to him. They were all in their forties or fifties, dressed like businessmen who had just gotten off of work. They’d make occasional small talk as he prepared their drinks, and they’d almost always tip well. Mostly they kept to themselves, crowding around one of the circular tables with a deck of cards and cigars hanging from their lips.

Akaashi’s eyes flicked up, pulled out of his own thoughts as he heard the door opening.

Two young men stepped into the bar, matching grins painted across their faces as they made their way towards the crowded table of middle aged men. Despite the lack of change in his expression, Keiji was more than a little taken aback by the two. While the other men at the table were dressed in either suits or dress pants and button ups, the newcomers were dressed casually. The taller of the two was in jeans and a long sleeve, black hair spiked up in all directions in what could only be labelled a ridiculous attempt at styled bedhead. He was much leaner than his counterpart, but it wasn’t difficult to make out his muscles through the fabric of his shirt. When he turned his back, Akaashi caught sight of black ink peeking through his collar. The shorter man was in a similar outfit, though he’d opted for a tight short sleeve instead. He was much larger than the other, with wide shoulders and sculpted arms that Akaashi couldn’t help but stare at for a moment. Winding around his left bicep were intricate designs in black, red, and gold ink that ended in the middle of his forearm, and disappeared into the sleeve of his shirt. His hair was a mixture of silver, white, and black, spiked back in a style that reminded Akaashi greatly of a horned owl. They  _ should _ have looked ridiculously out of place, but somehow they seemed like they belonged amongst the men who could only be described as looking like stereotypical mobsters from a bad western movie.

They both stood with pride and authority, but the shorter of the two was the one who managed to catch Akaashi’s attention the most; and it was much more than simply his face or his body. His stance was relaxed, an easy grin on his face as he spoke to the men, but there seemed to be an invisible cloud of energy surrounding him that demanded attention and respect. While the men in the group regarded both newcomers with obvious esteem, the majority of it seemed to be directed at the man with the multicoloured hair.

Akaashi’s eyes stayed focused on him, even as his raven haired partner began to speak. He had no hope of, nor any interest to, eavesdrop on the conversation. He was merely curious as to why two men who looked like average university students were being looked up to and respected by men who Akaashi had concluded within his first week to be a part of the Yakuza.

As if he could feel his gaze, the man with the spiked hair turned his head, locking eyes with the black haired bartender. Keiji took a moment to study his eyes; they were large, piercing, and a bright gold. His mind immediately conjured up the image of a horned owl again. 

Akaashi glanced away quickly, but he still felt the intensity of the other man’s gaze boring a hole into the back of his head as he turned and began to organize the bottles of liquor on the wooden shelves.

Their silent game went on for almost ten minutes; the silver haired man sat at the table, cards in hand and eyes focused on Akaashi, practically begging for a glance in his direction. All the while the raven-haired bartender refused to indulge him, absentmindedly drying off glasses as his gaze trailed over the counters wood grain.

Keiji finally looked up when he heard the creaking of a barstool directly in front of him. His gaze settled on a pair of golden eyes that were still looking at him with an intensity that would make someone less stoic turn a bright red. Not for the first time in his life, Akaashi was grateful he never had any issues concealing his emotions.

“Scotch, neat,” The man moved to rest his elbows on the bar counter, his lips quirked up into a smile, “Please,” He tacked the word onto the end, as if it was something he was unaccustomed to saying. If Keiji had to make an educated guess, he’d say that was exactly the case. He gave a silent nod, taking the opportunity to tear his eyes away from the man’s face. Turning his back, Akaashi’s long fingers wrapped around the neck of a bottle of scotch, his other hand reaching for a clean glass. There was a soft clinking as he set it down on the countertop, twisting off the top of the bottle and pouring the amber liquid. He pushed it towards the customer before turning his back again, setting the bottle back onto the shelf with a quiet sigh. Akaashi expected to hear the sound of the barstool creak again, followed by retreating footsteps. However when he turned back around, the owlish man was still sitting in the same spot, lips pressing against the rim of the glass as he continued to stare shamelessly.

“Something else I can get you?” Akaashi spoke for the first time, arching a dark eyebrow. The other man seemed to be a little taken aback, but he cleared his throat, the grin on his face coming back just as quickly as it had disappeared.

“Maybe a name?” He set his drink down on the counter, looking at Akaashi expectantly. He resisted the urge to audibly sigh. He stared expectantly at the bartender, speaking again when he got no response, “C’mon. I’m Bokuto Koutarou,” He leaned forward a little. Akaashi’s eyes flicked up, and he pursed his lips a little.

“Akaashi Keiji.” He spoke after a moment’s hesitation, eyes focusing on his own hands as he wrung out the cloth and set it aside. From the corner of his eye, he watched Bokuto perk up; like an overexcited puppy being presented with a bone.

“Akaashi..” Bokuto seemed to test the name in his mouth as he sipped his drink, smile having stretched into a full out grin by this point, “How the hell’d you end up working in a place like this?” He raised a thick eyebrow. Akaashi resisted the urge to chuckle; it was a question he got often, though it was never asked with as much genuine curiosity.

“Student debt,” He answered simply, shrugging. He figured there was no reason for him to bother with ignoring the attempts at conversation. His only other option was to stand silently behind the bar until his shift ended, “The pay is good. Not much competition, either.”  _ Because no one else is willing to work in such close proximity to the types of people who come here. _

Bokuto raised an eyebrow, chuckling warmly, “I’m sure there isn’t.. And I’m sure you’re smart enough to know why that is,” His gold eyes seemed to glint, and Akaashi didn’t bother responding, only glancing up to make momentary eye contact. Keiji was almost entirely sure the man sitting in front of him was another member of the syndicate, but for some reason, his mind couldn't fathom how such a childlike man would get into something such as organized crime.

There seemed to be a second of tension before Bokuto shifted the conversation to a different subject.

  
“You said student debt.. Are you in College or University? You look too young to have graduated already,” He polished off the last of his scotch, silently sliding it towards Akaashi, who reached back for the bottle.

“University, third year at Todai.” He poured Bokuto another drink before setting the bottle on the lower counter, knowing the chances were high that he’d need to grab it again. His short answers didn’t seem to deter the owlish man in the slightest, who only traced the rim of his glass with his index finger as he spoke again.

“Really? How old are you?” He raised an eyebrow, taking another sip of his drink.

“Turning twenty-one,” Akaashi leaned against the back counter, foot tapping against the floor.

“Seriously?” Bokuto spoke much too loudly for someone who was less than two feet away, “I turned twenty-two a week or so ago!”

He hummed in understanding, tracing his nails along the underside of the counter, “Well, happy late birthday I guess,”

Akaashi couldn’t help but think that the grin that spread across Bokuto’s face was much too wide for someone being wished a simple happy birthday; and a late one at that. Nonetheless, the raven haired man accepted the over-excited thank you with the tiniest hint of a smile.

Keiji soon found himself enjoying their conversation; he didn’t actually have to do much talking, and Bokuto didn’t seem to get bored with his short or sometimes nonexistent replies. Even more surprising was the fact that Akaashi didn’t get bored listening to Bokuto ramble on about absolutely nothing. If it had been almost anyone else, he probably would have come up with an excuse to end the conversation. At the very least, he would have stopped listening. He was exhausted, both mentally and physically, and in most circumstances, a person as loud and brash as Bokuto would simply put him off. But somehow he still found himself engrossed in Bokuto’s ridiculous story of how he’d thrown a paint-filled water balloon at his vice-principal when he was in high school. There was something about the owlish man that made him  _ want _ to stay where he was, listening to ridiculous stories told in a voice that was much too loud and watching him grin like he’d won the lottery each time he managed to pull out one of Akaashi’s barely existent smiles.

They’d reached a momentary lapse in conversation as Bokuto finished off his drink when they were interrupted by the man Bokuto had arrived with.

“What the hell’re you doing sitting over here all alone?” The guy raised an eyebrow, his arm draping across Bokuto’s shoulders as a smirk spread across his face. Akaashi couldn’t help but compare him to some sort of feline.

Bokuto laughed, setting his empty glass down on the bar, “I’m not alone, dumbass. I’m just not in the mood to sit and gamble all night,” Akaashi watched as he playfully shoved the arm off his shoulder.

“Oh yea, I’m sure hanging with the bartender is a grand old time--” He spoke sarcastically, before turning to Akaashi, “No offense, dude,”

“None taken.” He shook his head, rinsing out Bokuto’s cup and beginning to dry it.

“He’s got a name, asshole,” Bokuto snorted, “Kuroo, Akaashi. Akaashi, this is Kuroo Tetsurou,” He introduced. Akaashi gave a small nod in greeting, watching as Kuroo did the same.

Keiji stopped paying attention as the two men began to joke with each other, glancing at the clock. No longer distracted by his and Bokuto’s conversation, he could feel the exhaustion begin to settle in, making his limbs feel like lead. His shift was technically over five minutes ago, but he knew he couldn’t leave until whoever had the next shift showed up to take his place. The two men before him were still haggling each other, and Akaashi let out a sigh of relief as he watched the front door open. Onaga shot him an apologetic smile, which he just waved off, mouthing  _ it’s fine _ as he began to untie his apron. He draped it over his arm and turned around, more than eager to get back to his apartment.

“Akaashi, where’re you going?” He glanced over his shoulder as he heard Bokuto’s voice. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear there was a hint of disappointment in his tone.

“My shift’s over, Bokuto-san; I’m going home,” Akaashi gestured to the clock positioned on the wall, before turning around and stepping into the back room without waiting for a response. He quickly changed out of his uniform and into a pair of jeans and a jacket, grabbing his shoes and phone from his small employee locker. As he pulled on his shoes, he scrolled through his notifications; he had a couple of text messages from Konoha and Sarukui, which he responded to, before slipping his phone in his pocket and making his way out the back door. He stepped over empty boxes and garbage bags that had been torn open by wild animals, unable to stop himself from making a face at the smell. 

The cool autumn air nipped at his exposed skin as he made his way down the street, hands shoved in his pockets. The city streets were calm and silent, the only noise being the sounds of Akaashi’s footsteps as he walked. He glanced up at the sky a couple of times, occasionally able to catch sight of some of the brighter stars; the bright lights of the city made it difficult, but there was the odd night that he’d be able to catch sight of a constellation or two as he walked back home.

Keiji was almost shivering by the time he got back to his apartment, unlocking the door with shaky hands. He immediately stripped off his clothes, climbing beneath his warm sheets in only his boxers. There seemed to be only a split second between the moment he closed his eyes and the moment he fell asleep, but Akaashi was sure that he caught a glimpse of bright golden eyes that seemed to be printed into the back of his eyelids.  
  
  


* * *

 

 

“You’re so screwed, man,” The words were out of Kuroo’s mouth the second the door to their shared apartment closed behind them. Bokuto didn’t do more than scoff as he kicked off his shoes.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” He arched an eyebrow, following Kuroo as he made his way towards the kitchen. He let out a yelp as he felt the taller man’s fist connect with his shoulder.

“Quiet down, idiot. Kenma’s probably asleep” Tetsurou whisper yelled, gesturing to the room he shared with his boyfriend. Bokuto rolled his eyes, but the faint call of,  _ No I’m not  _ came from behind the door before he could respond. With a snort, he just gestured to the door, “Okay, well he should be!” Kuroo spoke regularly this time, shooting a pointed look at the closed door, only to be ignored.

“You can argue with Kozume about his shitty sleep habits another time, now answer my question,” Bokuto leaned his elbows on the counter, watching as Kuroo dug through their fridge in search of a water bottle.

“I’m talking about the shit with the bartender,” He snorted, leaning back against the counter.

“What shit? I talked to him a bit,” Bokuto shrugged, “Besides, you should be thankful I wasn’t playing cards, I would’ve cleared your damn wallet like I do every time.”

Kuroo ignored the jab at his gambling skills, partially because he knew Koutarou wasn’t entirely wrong.

“You stared at him for about ten minutes while we were talking about the bullshit with that gang in Shibuya,” Tetsurou pointed out, twisting the cap off his water bottle. Bokuto ignored the heat that crept up the back of his neck, “And then, you ‘went to get a drink’ and sat with him for like, twenty minutes.”

“Maybe I just wanted to sit at the bar,” He shrugged.

“Or maybe you wanted to get in the pretty bartenders pants,” Kuroo snorted, leaning back against the counter.

“That’s bullshit. I didn’t even ask for his number,” Bokuto pointed out. He had thought about it a couple of times, but considering Akaashi had barely given him his name..

“What? Were you worried you were gonna get rejected?” Kuroo smirked, raising an eyebrow. Bokuto didn’t respond, letting out a huff of laughter, “Why the hell’re you even going after someone like that anyways? He’s like.. your opposite. Nothing against the guy,” The black haired man put his hands up in a form of surrender as Bokuto shot him a glare that would’ve made anyone else turn and run with their tail tucked between their legs, “But you’ve got more than enough people that practically fall at your feet.”

“Maybe I don’t want someone who’ll just fall at my feet,” Bokuto stood up straight, shrugging a bit. He had no rebuttal to Kuroo’s opposite comment, nor did he have an answer about why exactly he found himself drawn to the stoic bartender. Koutarou had grown accustomed to getting what he wanted when he wanted it; outside of the syndicate, if something gave him too much trouble he’d toss it aside. But something about the warmth that spread through his chest when he caught Akaashi’s lips quirking up a couple millimeters made him want to keep chasing the feeling.

“Or maybe you don’t want someone who knows who you really are,” Kuroo supplied, raising an eyebrow. Bokuto snorted, shaking his head.

Bokuto Koutarou had never known life outside of the Yakuza. By the time he’d been born, his father had already become kumicho of the Yamaguchi-gumi. Raised in Kobe alongside Kuroo Tetsurou, the son of his father’s best friend, he grew up surrounded by criminal activity and gang violence. By the time they were sixteen, both himself and Kuroo had found themselves high ranking members of the syndicate, which had quickly become synonymous with the word ‘Yakuza’ under the leadership of Bokuto Akihiro. The Yamaguchi-gumi had become responsible for over half of all organized criminal activity in Japan, expanding their territory at an almost frightening rate.

For this reason, Bokuto hadn’t been particularly surprised when his father had mentioned expanding into the country’s capital. What had surprised him was when, on his twenty-first birthday, his father had pulled him aside and stated that he wanted Koutarou to lead the clan within Tokyo.

_ “Wait, you’re serious?” Bokuto wouldn’t have been surprised if his eyebrows had begun to disappear into his hairline. He’d stood before his father, momentarily shocked into silence at the offer that had been presented, “You want me… to be Oyabun of the clan in Tokyo?” _

_ Bokuto had to force himself not to grin as he watched his father nod, an amused smile pulling at his lips, “Yes, Koutarou.. It’ll be one of our most important branches, outside of Kobe. You’ve earned the position,” _

_ At the praise, the owlish man seemed to stand a little taller. His father had never been a cold man, but his words of praise had grown rarer as Bokuto got older. Now, not only was he commending the effort his son had put in to get to the position he was currently in, but he was offering him control of a fairly large clan in one of their most important territories. An Oyabun being a man any younger than forty was rare, but having someone as young as Bokuto in that sort of position was absolutely unheard of. The thought of standing as equals with some of the men who’d helped to raise him made his chest swell with pride. _

_ “Thank you,” He sunk into a bow before his father, forcing himself to hold back his grin of excitement, “I won’t disappoint you,” _

Taking Kuroo on as his wakagashira, Bokuto made his way to Tokyo the next month. He lead with as much efficiency as his father did, and with the same lack of mercy. He’d found it difficult at first; despite his quick rise to power and his relation to the kumicho, Koutarou had found a good chunk of people within the syndicate that didn’t seem happy with taking orders from someone less than half their age. It had taken a lot of effort, Bokuto had done a lot of things he was less than proud of. But his attempts weren’t in vain, and within a couple of months he had gained the respect and loyalty of those beneath him.

He left a good majority of the dirty work to the kyodai or shatei; Koutarou’s largest responsibility was giving orders, and Tetsurou’s was making sure the orders were followed. It was rare for the two of them to truly get involved in any of the syndicate’s criminal activities.

“The guy isn’t an idiot,” He turned his back to Kuroo, making his way towards his bedroom, “I’m sure he knows exactly what kind of people his customers are.”

“Who knows. Most people would’ve reported those sorts of things. I’d see why the owner wouldn’t, but the kid’s just a bartender.” Out of the corner of his eye he watched Tetsurou shrug as he opened the door to his and Kenma’s bedroom. 

_ Akaashi doesn’t seem like most people. _

Bokuto didn’t voice his thoughts, simply returning Kuroo’s shrug before bidding him goodnight, stepping into his empty bedroom and closing the door behind him with a soft click. He didn’t bother turning on the lights, stripping down to his boxers and climbing into his empty bed. The blankets draped over his legs, Koutarou laid on his side, unfocused eyes staring into the darkness as his fingers fidgeted with the fabric of his sheets.

His thoughts drifted towards Akaashi, curiosity breaking through his blank mind. Kuroo’s question kept playing in his mind;  _ Why the hell’re you even going after someone like that anyways? _

Bokuto knew there had been truth to his initial response; he didn’t want someone who fell at his feet. Within the family, he’d quickly grown accustomed to being treated a certain way. Those below him pledged their loyalty to him. Those who stood on even ground respected him. And he pledged his own loyalty to the few who were above him. Anyone outside of the syndicate just feared him.

Akaashi - obviously - hadn’t done any of those things. He hadn’t seemed scared of Bokuto -- which had momentarily led him to believe that he really  _ wasn’t _ aware of the kind of people he was serving drinks to. Akaashi had just treated him like a regular person.

It was something, as stupid as it sounded, that Koutarou wasn’t used to. He’d never been treated normally, not even by people who didn’t know who he was. His loud, slightly impetuous nature made people regard him warily, and often pushed them away. The closest he’d ever gotten to ‘regular’ were the friendships he had with Kuroo and Kenma.

But Akaashi had treated him like anyone else; he didn’t look away out of fear when they made eye contact, he didn’t make any attempts at flirting. He hadn’t even talked that much. Akaashi just stayed behind the bar and listened to his useless rambling with a glint of amusement in his eyes that, had Bokuto been paying less attention to the minimal shifts in his bored facade, he would’ve easily missed.

With a grunt, Bokuto rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, swearing that he caught sight of a pair of blue eyes staring back at him through the darkness.

_ Jesus Christ, I am screwed. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a bunch for reading! Please anyone let me know if I make any mistakes regarding the whole Yakuza stuff, I spent a ton of time researching but I'm not entirely sure if everythings correct.
> 
> If you guys enjoyed, please leave a comment or kudos, it means a lot!
> 
> For more of my stuff, you can follow me on tumblr @kuidore!


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